WHERE'D I PUT MY GODDESS?

So many of us, in such proximity, struggling quietly, struggling in silence, struggling alone. Stoic, strong. Rock. Island.

Line.

Life line…

Secretly praying for the same salvation, the same kind of paradise. Praying in a little shoe box, each of us stacked, one on top of the other.

Will no one cut a hole in their little box? Let a little light fall in? Wriggle a little fat fleshy finger through? Just one touch seems enough to keep these times from being so tough.

Are we not, somehow, missing the point?